


Matched

by cutglasscaress



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Mating, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutglasscaress/pseuds/cutglasscaress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stalking and manipulation are such emotive terms.  Peter simply has a long term strategy with regards to Stiles, and he knows how to wait.  But he is not the only one with plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matched

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t own, just borrowing, may not be returning in pristine condition...

Peter watched Stiles.  And who could blame him?  No one else was quite as intriguing, and he found himself with a lot of spare time on his hands and very little to occupy him.  Oddly enough no one was particularly keen to solicit his advice or help (really, shocking trust issues there), so he had to entertain himself somehow. 

No one else really _saw_ Stiles, and they were fools not to.  But Peter noticed the easy smiles that didn’t quite reach the eyes, the increasing excuses to spend time by himself (and not solely to indulge in self love, though Peter relished those particular occasions), the odd unguarded moment when Stiles would be quiet and calm sitting on his bed with a calculating look on his features that Peter found very alluring indeed.  Peter strived to catch those moments, and delighted in the knowledge he was the only one to partake of them.  He was clever and he was subtle, and knowing your prey was almost as much fun as catching it. 

Listening to Stiles lie so expertly to Scott (essays to be written, quality time with his dad), sent a little shiver of pleasure down Peter’s spine.  No longer even that small hitch in Stiles’ heart rate he had detected before, all those weeks ago when he began his study.  He was oddly proud of him, and there was a smug twisted pleasure (what other type is there for him?) in knowing Stiles was lying to his best friend, that Scott was no longer that safe harbour for him.  Stiles’ little boat of mystery was sailing solo these days, but Peter was determined to board it and steer it where he wished.  Let’s face it, that little spark would be wasted on the others, and Peter wasn’t about to squander such an opportunity.

So he watched as Stiles spent so much of his spare time studying to improve his arcane knowledge, whether online, or devouring books bought, begged or borrowed with a rigour that gave the lie to his inability to focus.  Outwardly there was nothing that would arouse suspicion, but a slight loss of weight and a greater pallor, which really brought out the stunning hue of his eyes.  But on the whole the disguise worked wonderfully on those who did not care to look, or were too stupid to see.  Pretty much everyone, then.

 

**************************

 

Perhaps Peter had become a little complacent in his stalking, or more likely Stiles had noticed his interest for some time.  He didn’t think to ask, and in the end he deemed it not important.  But Stiles did not even look up from his reading as he uttered his invitation –

“You might as well be useful, CreeperWolf.  I need some advice here.”

Well, when you put it like that, Peter was all about helping Stiles.  And that evening had indeed proved most interesting.  There was a rapport, a meeting of minds if you will, and an enjoyment in those hours that Peter had not experienced in some time.  No one else was so intriguing and clever, well at least no one who didn’t want him dead or seriously maimed.  And Stiles seemed disinclined to do either of these things. 

 

Peter was very well read when it came to magic.  Not every wolf can come back from the dead, and knowledge is power.  And Stiles clearly wanted that, there was a hunger in his eyes when he listened to Peter, and that was insidiously addictive and _oh so_ _sexy_.  To have the boy so focused on him, his eyes so keen, absorbing his words but also wary of possible lies – it was a delight to watch the struggle.  But he wouldn’t lie, no.  He might withhold some information, and enjoy the frustration that elicited, but he didn’t lie.  He wanted them both to be on the same page, some degree of trust was necessary, although of course the balance of power should tip firmly in his favour.  He had every intention of becoming the alpha again, and grooming Stiles to be his emissary and ally (and hopefully more) was always part of that plan. 

 

But Stiles was still holding back, he could sense the reticence, the innate distrust of him, and he couldn’t really blame him.  Still, he was young and youth had its inherent weaknesses.  The heady scent of arousal would invariably escalate during their learning sessions, and Peter very much understood the attraction of clever minds as well as eager bodies.  Their first kiss was slow, languid, lazy tongues and sliding hot mouths, tender tugging of moist lips.  A torturous build up of pleasure, then a brief stroke to Stiles’ hot crotch, and the boy was coming, moaning his climax in Peter’s mouth.  In an odd moment of pure instinct Peter stripped his cock hard and fast to cover Stiles’ exposed stomach in his come, and pantingly rubbed it in.  Stiles managed a feeble “Gross!” but that seemed mostly for show.  Peter caught him watching him with a hungry calculating fascination which together with his deliciously debauched look was making Peter’s dick twitch with renewed interest.  For an odd second Peter felt slightly unmoored, assaulted by a most peculiar feeling of belonging, of home.  But the feeling passed soon enough, leaving only disturbing ripples in its wake. 

 

***************************

 

And so the weeks passed and their interactions grew.  Book knowledge was all very well, but some practical applications were necessary too, so more time was now spent outside.  Stiles demanded that Peter teach him some fighting techniques, and Peter was not averse to bruising him a little (a lot) and enjoying his writhing panting form underneath him.  Sex, unsurprisingly, often followed these little sparring sessions.

 

And then one day Peter found himself waiting for over an hour in Stiles’ room.  And when he arrived, panting and sweating from the obvious rushing around, he cursed his teacher and set off for the shower.  And _there_ , that little almost imperceptible hitch he hadn’t heard in a long time, and disturbingly no longer listened for.  And fleeting though it had been, that was not the smell of school.  It was leaves and woods and earth.  Peter’s senses were alight, and there was a delightful little frisson at the thought of the chase, literal or otherwise.  Confronting Stiles would not be the best course of action.  The boy was secretive and while showering he would have time to get his responses under control, and his next lie may well be impossible to spot.  Although the thought of pinning him down and exerting a little pressure just to amuse himself with what imaginative lie would surface from his boy’s clever brain did have appeal.  But no, better to bide his time, pretend he was merely annoyed at the delay.  Stiles reappeared with mumbled apologies and met with this version of Peter, and soon enough they were back to their usual banter.

 

But Peter went back to watching.  And he realised that sometimes you miss things that were more obvious when you were at a distance from the subject.  He started to arrive a little earlier than expected, and observed the Stiles that smelled of earth and forest, who would move with an inner quiet which was altogether somewhat disturbing, and whose eyes were sharp as stones.  He would watch him shed that version of himself once out of the shower, and wait for Peter’s arrival, all twitching fingers and restless demeanour. 

 

Peter then turned up much earlier to find out where Stiles was going.  It became clear that he had dropped several activities which he had been engaged in after school, such as visiting Deaton.  Peter followed him to an unremarkable little clearing in the woods, where Stiles simply stopped and sat down, right there on the leaf litter.  He seemed to gather himself in a tense little bundle, then heaved a great sigh, closed his eyes and just sat there.  Peter watched and waited.  And waited.  Half an hour passed, then one hour.  Stiles’ only movement was the shallow breathing of his body.  Peter had never seen him so still, and something like disquiet took hold of him.  This was a version of Stiles he was not aware of, one the boy had hidden from him.  Tut, tut, that in itself would be worth making Stiles squirm for a bit, but oddly all ideas of punishment were sabotaged by an unexpected and unwelcome twinge of concern.  While he struggled to make sense of that, Stiles’ eyes snapped open, he slowly stretched his body, got back to his feet in a surprisingly graceful move, and made his way back to the car.

Peter stayed behind to check out the area, looking for clues as to what Stiles was up to, but found nothing untoward.  If he didn’t know Stiles (and admittedly he was beginning to wonder about that) he would presume this was merely meditation, but clearly he had lied about it, so what was he hiding?

Peter followed him on two further occasions, which turned out almost exact replicas of the first.  It was time to make his presence known.  As soon as he padded out into the clearing, shifting seamlessly into his human form, he enjoyed the little thrill of seeing Stiles gasping in surprise and then shifting through to annoyance in record speed. 

“Why are you here?”

“Surely that’s my line, my dear.  I am merely disappointed – I thought we shared all our little experiments.  Care to explain?”

Stiles’ determined scowl unexpectedly gave way to a quietly resigned “You don’t want to be here, Peter.”

“I rather think I do, actually.  So, what are you up to?”

Stiles worried his bottom lip, reticent to explain, yet clearly wanting to.  “I’ve been working on a spell that would help protect me.  But ... it could be dangerous.  Potentially.  You should just go.” 

Peter picked up the rapid beating of Stiles’ heart, the smell of anxiety and stress, and stepped further towards the boy.  If Stiles was determined to do this, he would of course help.  He would always protect his investment, and dividends for good behaviour would pay well for the future.  In any other circumstance he would have tried to pry for more information, but the tension in the clearing was palpable, the moment fraught, and he felt if he insisted that little door of trust would shut forever.  Stiles clearly did not want to be alone and his whole body language cried out for Peter to stay, although the boy’s ridiculous standards of self-sufficiency and bloody stubbornness conspired to stop him from actually asking.  His voice was quiet but firm. 

“Whatever you are doing, let me help.”

Stiles’ grateful smile still took him by surprise, warming that little niche in his heart that was so very hidden from everyone, even himself.  He came and sat beside his little spark, now all excited anticipation.

“So, how...?”

“Just turn towards me, like this” – he repositioned Peter to his satisfaction – “and hold my hand (grasping Peter in a surprisingly vice like grip).”  Peter had a split second to register the strangest look on Stiles’ face as he stared deep into the beta’s eyes, before the breath leaving the boy turned into whispered incantation and all the world fell away.  The warmth from Stiles’ hand was the only anchor in an ocean of dark unreason which gripped him in terror for a heartbeat (an eternity) before the warmth spread up his arm to his chest, and outward to every cell of his body, until he felt nothing but its all enveloping power.

 

***************************

 

“Finally!  Thought you’d never wake up!” 

Peter retorted huffily, still somewhat struggling to shake the residual mental cobwebs.

“Well, neither did I.” 

And something about his tone made Stiles’ eyes widen in outraged disbelief. 

“You thought I was going to _off you_?  Don’t judge me by your own methods, asshole!”

Peter’s present state made him unable to conjure a witty comeback.  Not that he could really deny the accusation. 

“Well, I’m feeling somewhat tetchy, my dear, so I would suggest you enlighten me as to what happened here.”

Stiles’ smug little smirk made him itch to gently claw his way down the boy’s beautiful throat and lap at the warm spill, but from the look of lust on Stiles’ face he must have misread Peter’s thoughts.  Or maybe not.  Sometimes it was difficult to pigeonhole Stiles’ desires, or indeed his own, and the boy’s reactions were so often delightfully surprising. 

But he wanted answers, and there was no mistaking the warning in his tone.  

“Stiles ...”

“Geez, fine!  Well, you and I are now mated.  For life.”

Well, the surprises just kept coming, though he wasn’t sure about the delight factor here.  He had always planned to give Stiles the mating bite, ideally with his consent, regrettably without, but certainly on his own terms.  And now it appeared his mate (and here the wolf inside did a little leap and a yip, embarrassingly) had been a few steps ahead of him.

“I know you, Peter.  You can’t help yourself.  You would always want more – more power over me, more control.  And I was not going to put up with that shit.  I like you, I really do, well...you know, more than _like_ ” – and Stiles looked oddly shy here, almost embarrassed by his confession, before a determined briskness took over – “but if we were werewolf mated, you’d always have the upper hand.  The bond in this spell makes us equal.” 

Uhm, well, that was...oddly ok, actually.  He wasn’t ecstatic about the turn of events, but he wasn’t _really_ losing anything by it, and certainly gaining something he wanted much sooner than he thought he would.  Still, he should definitely make a little show of outrage, stir a little guilt if possible.

“Speaking of abuse of power, my dear, I don’t remember being asked for my consent in this little exchange.”

No stirring of guilt was evident in Stiles’ smiling face.  He seemed quite eager to show off how he had tricked Peter, the little shit.

“Oh, but you did agree, Peter, more than once in fact.  The spell could not have worked if you had been coerced.  Of course my behaviour _may_ have lured you to the site, and I _may_ have been somewhat vague about details, and _may_ have omitted some crucial information, but I never lied, and yet you offered to help.  If you consented without all the facts, that’s your problem.”

Damn, the boy was learning all his tricks.  Peter felt somewhat proud as well as annoyed.  Better get used to that feeling.

“So what next, o cunning one?”

“You know my long term plans – they haven’t changed.  But for right now, I’m totally buzzed, and need to feel your skin on mine, my wolfy mate, and I want to ride you until I pass out.”

Well, he could work with that.

 

 


End file.
